


The Beauty Was in Your Words (But the Poetry Was in Your Touch)

by orchis



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/pseuds/orchis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas, PhD student in the University of Minas Tirith, doesn't care much for contemporary poetry (or Dwarves, for that matter). Gimli Firebeard, a young but renowned poet from Erebor, is about to change that. This is a sort of modern AU in which the races of Middle Earth are mostly intact, but the world is modernised. Written for Gigolas Week 2015 Day 3: Languages and Writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beauty Was in Your Words (But the Poetry Was in Your Touch)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so very much to Ken, McKittericks and flamebyrd for their endless encouragement and support. You're all starts. This is, I'm afraid, only the first chapter of the fic, but I wanted to publish it for Gigolas Week. I'll try my best to update very soon, though! And since I can't write poetry to save my life, Gimli's poems are by Marina Tsevetaeva, with a few modifications. Proper credits at the end notes. Also, check out the fantastic art McKittericks made for this fic http://mckittericks.tumblr.com/post/134500041810/gigolas-day-3-writing-the-beautythe-poetry-for (which incidentally gave me the idea for the title!)

Legolas cursed under his breath when he saw the wave of sleepy undergrads who flooded the entrance to the building and were blocking his way.  
   
‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ he muttered, trying to pass through without blatantly pushing people around.  
   
He was going to be late. He felt embarrassment creep up to his face as he pushed one girl a little too forcefully to get to the bottom of the stairs. The girl's friends gave him a dirty look, and he apologised barely above his breath and rushed upstairs.  
   
Late. Late. Late. And he'd forgotten in which seminar room they were supposed to meet. The sun was shining outside, it was a lovely spring morning - clear sky, the scent of flowers in the air. And yet he was inside, rushing through the corridors to spend the next hour of his life listening to contemporary Dwarvish poetry, out of all things, just to cover one of this semester's compulsory seminars.  
   
He took one corner and found Aragorn opening one door. He sighed in relief.  
   
'Hey!' he said, rushing to his side.  
   
Aragorn smiled and greeted him, and together, they went in. Luckily, the event had not started yet, but the room was packed. One girl sitting by the door gave them a slightly judgmental look.  
   
'Come in, come in!' they heard the voice of professor Baggins, 'There's still seats available!'  
   
Legolas greeted him awkwardly from afar, while Aragorn made a beeline towards him and started to speak animatedly about something.  
   
Knowing that he'd be ignored, Legolas scanned the room. He found an available seat and took it, squeezing himself between Faramir and an Masters student who was chatting with another girl in a particular accent of Westron he did not recognised (was she a Southerner, perhaps?).  
   
Before he and Faramir could exchange more than greetings, professor Baggins cleared his throat, and spoke above the low chatter. Aragorn had found a seat next to the judgmental girl, a warm cup of coffee in front of him. Legolas' stomach growled. When was the last time he'd eaten? He was sure he'd had half a lembas yesterday afternoon. There was no need to be hungry yet. Maybe.  
   
'Thank you very much for joining us this lovely spring morning!' said professor Baggins, grinning and looking at the window for an instant. 'This is the first in a series of contemporary poetry recitals. What better way to inaugurate it than with the presence of one of the most fascinating young poets I’ve had the pleasure to read, who also happens to be our resident writer for the upcoming year…’  
   
Behind Baggins, on the projector screen, a single name: Gimli Firebeard.  
   
A Dwarf was standing behind Baggins, his face barely visible among his - Legolas had to admit - magnificient red beard. His eyes were dancing nervously, scanning all the faces in the crowd. Legolas took a small notebook out of his bag and wrote down a few details from Bilbo's introduction for his report. Gimli, born and raised in Erebor (made Legolas think briefly of home, and of his father, whom he definitely had to call), 63 years old. Had studied Khuzdûl in the Moria Institute of Technology (well, if you had to go to a Dwarvish university...), and was now living in Asglarond.  
   
Inane details. Legolas despised contemporary poetry. He just didn't get it. Ancient songs, songs and poetry that had stayed in people's consciousness for generations - that was something he understood and appreciated. New songs were fine too, he supposed. Professor Bilbo had a few compositions of his own which were amusing and entertaining without neglecting the style. Compared to the poetry of old, however...  
   
Legolas was into Silvan poetry of the Second Age, particularly the one involving the war of the Last Alliance. He didn't think a Dwarf from the north could have anything worth saying to him. Plus he didn't speak Khuzdûl. No one did. The bloody language was so secretive that if you weren't a Dwarf and you wanted to learn it, you had to get a special permission from the Council of Elders at Moria. And even then, Legolas reckoned it was a ridiculous language.  
   
Unlike the Silvan language, unlike Sindarin, unlike Westron, and every other language Legolas had come in contact with throughout his very long life, Khuzdûl didn't change through time. How could you write poetry in a language like that anyway? Not that _Dwarves_ had anything to write poetry about. What would their images be like? Forgeries and fire and metal and smoke? Not very nice, in Legolas' opinion.  
   
His inner rant was cut short as Bilbo stepped away from the projector screen and the Dwarf took his place.  
   
‘Thanks a lot for coming,' said the Dwarf. He smiled. It was interesting, though, how in spite of his gigantic beard and moustache, you could still notice he was smiling. His cheekbones raised, the corners of his eyes wrinkled every so slightly. He had big, brown eyes. 'And thanks a lot to professor Baggins for inviting me. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous to be the first one in this series of recitals, especially considering the big names that come after me, but I’ll try my best.’ Legolas grabbed his pen again and focused on keeping notes. ‘As Professor Baggins mentioned, I write most of my poetry in Westron, which is my mother language...'  
   
Well, _that_ was a surprise.  
   
'...We only learn Khuzdûl,’ Gimli continued, ‘when we're old enough to know we can't just share it with strangers, which is, in my humble opinion, _shurgelokkhif_ , or, as we say in Erebor - a load of bullshit.'  
   
The students laughed. Legolas struggled not to smile. Such language in a classroom! Trust a Dwarf to be so uncouth. He stole a glance at Aragorn. His friend was eyeing the Dwarf with curiosity over the rim of his coffee cup, a small smile in his face. Legolas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Aragorn was a clever and cultured man, but he also was way too nice. He was one of those people who could be friends with everybody, which wasn't so good for Legolas, who had to go to his parties and spend time with all sorts of undesirables - like Elladan and Elrohir. They were insufferable lecturers in Sindarin and Quenya whom Aragorn thought he had to treat nicely just because he was dating their sister.  
   
'...but other than that, we don't write much literature in Khuzdûl,' Gimli went on. Legolas forced his concentration back to the present. He still had to write a report about whatever the Dwarf said. He had to focus.  
   
He took a deep breath and straightened his back. The Dwarf kept talking. He switched to the next slide of his presentation, which was one of his poems. Legolas wrote down the title, 'Homesickness.'  
   
The Dwarf began to read:  
   
Homesickness! That long  
Exposure to misery!  
It’s all the same to me –  
Where I’m utterly lonely

Or what stones I wander  
Home by, with my sacks,  
Home that’s no more mine  
Than a hospital, a barracks.

It’s all the same to me, what  
Faces I bristle among, a lion  
Captive, what human crowd  
– as it must do – thrusts me on,  
  
Into myself, individual feeling,  
From the pole, a _khamrul_ bear;  
Where I fail to fit (and won’t try!),  
Where I’m debased: I don’t care.  
  
I won’t let the milky call  
Of my native language tempt me.  
It’s all the same to me in what  
Tongue they misunderstand me!  
  
(By what readers swallowing  
Newsprint tonnage, gossip’s grime…)  
They belong to the Fourth Age  
While I’m – before my time,  
  
Petrified, like a log left  
From an avenue, let fall.  
They’re all the same – it’s all  
The same – perhaps most of all –  
   
What was native to me – of all.  
All the signs and tokens, there,  
All the dates – a hand erased:  
The soul once born – somewhere.  
  
My land cares so little for me  
That even the keenest sleuth  
Could traverse my whole – spirit!  
And find no birthmark, in truth!  
  
Houses alien, churches empty,  
All – one and the same – to me:  
Yet if by the side of the road  
A particular bush shows – rowanberry…  
   
Legolas blinked. That was surprisingly... interesting. He did _not_ like contemporary poetry, but this one had a different feeling. Foreign, perhaps - he didn't want to use the word exotic (oh how he loathed when Elladan and Elrohir used that word to talk about his accent!), but it did felt unusual, refreshing.  
   
'Many of the poems I wrote for my first book were concerned with that - loneliness, displacement, otherness, homesickness,' said Gimli. 'I wrote most of them while I was studying in Moria. It was funny,' he said, and smiled, though there was not real humour in his words - Legolas noticed his eyes didn't sparkle like before -, when he added, 'I was in the place I'd always wanted to be. The heart of the Dwarven world - Moria. The ancient halls of Dúrin, of my ancestors, the beating core of my culture. And yet, it all felt distant and foreign. That's something I tried to capture. There's also the issue of...'  
   
Legolas wrote that down. Well, feeling alienated and strange even among those who were supposedly your own kin was something to which he could relate easily.  
   
Gimli went on to read a couple more poems, each more impressive than the other. Legolas had to admit it - not only were they masterfully crafted. It was, to a certain degree, easy to craft a poem. It's all in the rhythm, in the rhyme, the syllables, the emphasis... you could study the structures and imitate the masters of the past. But the strength of poetry, for him, was in images and emotions, in the message it conveyed. It not only had to be technically beautiful, sonorously pleasant, but coherent, it had to have a heart. Gimli's poems had a heart.  
   
'And this is one of the poems that didn't make it to the cut, so to speak,' said Gimli. And began to read:  
   
Walking, you’re just like me,  
Your eyes are on the ground.  
I used to lower mine, you see.  
Stop passer-by, at this mound!  
  
When you’ve picked a cluster  
Of buttercups, poppies, a few–  
Read, I was named Gimli,  
And how old I was, too.  
  
Don’t think, this is – a grave,  
That I’ll appear – too scary! …  
I myself when I shouldn’t have,  
Loved to laugh much too loudly!  
  
And the blood rushed to my face,  
And my hair was curly…  
Passer-by, I held your place!  
Passer-by, stop: and read me!  
  
Break a bramble, and after  
Pluck from it a berry,  
No strawberry’s larger, sweeter  
Than one from a cemetery.  
   
But don’t stand there gloomy,  
Your head on your chest!  
Think about me lightly,  
Think of me, and forget.  
  
Ah, how the sun shines on you!  
Golden dust all round…  
– Don’t let it upset you,  
My voice from underground.  
   
And like that, the talk was over. Legolas joined in the applause wholeheartedly.  
   
He was aching to ask questions, though he wasn't sure what. He was never very good at these sort of thing. A very short talk, and they were supposed to think of things to ask, things to learn. Legolas could only get what would be interesting to know until after he'd given it a few days of thoughts. He didn't know if it was a matter of being an Elf, or if he was just a little slower than anybody. Perhaps it was a cultural thing. Elves had more time, so naturally they felt like they could take longer to do things. Doing a PhD in four years, as opposed to forty, seemed like an odd choice. (But then again, with how little they had to sleep, Elves seemed to have an unfair advantage compared to their other colleagues.)  
   
'Why didn't that last poem make it to the book?' asked Aragorn, 'It's magnificent!'  
   
'Ah, thank you. Tell that to my publisher!' responded Gimli. Even Legolas had to allow himself to smile at that. 'No, really. It was a matter of it not fitting well thematically with the rest of the poems. It was a new thing, you see. Something I wrote, almost on an impulse, a few weeks before the other poems were finished. I thought I could include it, perhaps, but the whole book was much more complete on its own, and after some discussion, Ori - that's my editor - and I decided not to include it. This might be a preview of my upcoming publication, though.'  
   
The seminar finished in the blink of an eye. Legolas had to admit Gimli was a good speaker - he made the topic entertaining for everyone and managed to poke even Legolas' interest in such an alien subject.  
   
Well, well. So Dwarves could write, and write about other things that weren't metal and gold. That was new and, he dared to say, exciting. When Gimli talked about his influences, Legolas wrote down a couple of names on his notebook, making a mental note to search in the library and see if there was anything by them to read in his free time.  
   
'Well, thank you all very much for coming!' said professor Baggins, smiling at the students with his usual joviality. 'Our next seminar will take place exactly in three weeks. Write it down on your diaries...'  
   
On his way out, Legolas stole a glance at the Dwarf. He seemed to be having an animated conversation with one of the girls.  
   
'Well, that was fun!' said Aragorn, intercepting him just outside the room.  
   
Legolas nodded, and gestured at Faramir, who was just leaving the room, to join them.  
   
'To be honest, I didn't expect it to be so interesting. I'd never really read any Dwarf literature, so...' Legolas trailed off, and shrugged.  
   
Aragorn smiled.  
   
'I've just read a couple of novels. They're not as popular as Men literature,' he said, with a shrug, 'Even though they're both in Westron.'  
   
'You shouldn't say that!' said Faramir, chuckling. 'The Rohan department would have your head for that!' he said, winking. 'Not all Men literature is written in Westron!'  
   
Aragorn grinned.  
   
'I'm a historian, I don't have to know anything about literature! My ignorance is justified and therefore should be excused!' he said, playfully.  
   
'Considering that you spend more time in this School than yours, I wonder why you just don't transfer to the Sindarin Department,' said Faramir. 'Yours is far better than mine anyway!'  
   
Aragorn looked away, a bit embarrassed.  
   
'His Sindarin is probably better than _mine_ ,' said Legolas, a bit harshly. 'I mean, so would some people say. Because he speaks the proper Imladris Sindarin, not my trashy, Wood-Sindarin!'  
   
Aragorn flushed.  
   
'I've never said that!'  
   
Legolas grinned.  
   
'I'm teasing you, Aragorn.'  
   
'By the way, are we still up for drinks tonight?' asked Faramir.  
   
'Ah, I've got a presentation on Monday,' said Aragorn, 'I'm not sure...'  
   
'The same presentation you finished last night?' asked Legolas, narrowing his eyes.  
   
Aragorn nodded.  
   
'I need to go through it again and practice...'  
   
'Ah, come on, you can do that during the weekend! Even Boromir is coming,' said Faramir. 'Plus I bet your paper is perfect anyway.'  
   
'You can choose the pub if that'll motivate you,' said Legolas, raising his eyebrows.  
   
Aragorn smiled, and nodded at them reluctantly.  
   
'Fine. See you at eight in The White Tree?'  
   
*  
   
Legolas wasn't a fan of The White Tree. Sure, it was an alright place, but it was a little too small and a little too crowded, and the wine wasn't particularly good.  
   
Not to mention, it was frequented by more professors than students, being not in the third level of the city (where the University was located), but in the fourth level, where most posh families lived.  
   
Faramir and Boromir were already waiting outside, accompanied by Merry and Pippin. The two Hobbits, as usual, smelled of weed and were giggling and making Boromir laugh as Faramir watched them with amusement.  
   
'Ah, welcome, my lord!' said Merry, grinning. Pippin bowed towards Legolas.  
   
'How are you tonight, sire?'  
   
Legolas rolled his eyes.  
   
'Stop that!' he said. Ever since they'd found out that his father was a highly renowned politician in Greenwood, they had started teasing him mercilessly, calling him prince, and so on.  
   
Pippin looked at him with an impish grin.  
   
'Ah! There you are, Frodo!' he said, suddenly, and waved at the other side of the street, where Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn were walking towards them.  
   
Faramir shivered and hugged himself. It was getting really cold, although Legolas couldn't feel it. It was one of the advantages of being an elf.  
   
'We should get a table before it gets more crowded,' said Boromir.  
   
Faramir nodded, and they all went inside.  
   
Fortunately, they found an available table, big enough to hold all of them, at the back of the bar. It was covered in empty glasses and used napkins.  
   
The Hobbits were the ones to rush to the bar first to get their drinks. The Men and Elf waited patiently in the table, waved at a waiter to please pick up the mess and give the table a wipe, and talked about nothing at all. The music was low, but the sound of the voices was still quite loud, and it made Legolas easily distracted.  
   
In the table next to them, two intoxicated girls were talking about an ex girlfriend.  
   
'It's rude to eavesdrop!' said Aragorn, elbowing him lightly.  
   
'Who's dropping eaves?' asked Sam, returning to the table with a pint.  
   
'Legolas is listening to other people's conversations and paying no mind to ours, as usual,' said Aragorn.  
   
Legolas blushed.  
   
'I'll go get a drink,' he said, standing up.  
   
The Men stood up and followed him. But as soon as he reached the bar, Legolas groaned internally. Great. Professor Baggins was there. Why did Aragorn have to choose the teachers' pub? Legolas liked Baggins a lot, even if he was in the Sindarin Department and therefore Legolas only saw him in seminars. But he didn't like running into members of the academic staff during his free time. It made him feel bad, like he was supposed to be in the office, working, and they caught him drinking instead of studying.  
   
Next to him, there was the Dwarf.  
   
'Ah! Professor Baggins!' said Faramir, nodding. 'What a surprise!'  
   
'Hey there, Faramir!' said Baggins, smiling at him. 'Well met.'  
   
'It's good to see you too, Mr Firebeard!' said Faramir to the Dwarf. He did take networking seriously. As did Legolas - except there hadn’t been a Dwarf in his network before!  
   
'Ah, Gimli, please,' he said, smiling at him from over the rim of his glass.  
   
Next to Faramir, Boromir cleared his throat.  
   
'Sorry!' said Faramir, embarrassed. 'This is my brother, Boromir. Boromir, this is my advisor, Professor Bilbo Baggins. And this is Gimli Firebeard, the Erebor poet I was telling you about at lunch...'  
   
'Pleased to meet you,' said Boromir, shaking their hand. 'Faramir was very impressed with your presentation. I think he's considering changing his dissertation topic!'  
   
'Are you now?' said Bilbo, chuckling. 'Well, well. It might be a little too far down the line for that, but you could consider a comparative approach for your PhD topic.'  
   
Legolas snorted.  
   
'Right, because Sindarin and Khuzdûl have so much in common!' he giggled.  
   
And he immediately realised he had said the wrong thing. Bilbo chuckled, out of politeness, while Faramir, Boromir and Aragorn just looked mortified. Gimli gave him a dark look.  
   
'Are you studying Sindarin, then?' he asked Legolas.  
   
'Oh no!' he said, frowning. 'Silvan literature. I'm from Greenwood.'  
   
'Ah,' said Gimli. 'We're practically neighbours, then.'  
   
Legolas nodded. Boromir elbowed him. 'I’m going to order for us. What do you want?'  
   
'Red wine,' Legolas said, perhaps a little too loud. Boromir gave him the thumbs up and turned to talk to the bartender.  
   
Faramir and professor Baggins were now making small talk, so that left Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn to entertain themselves.  
   
'Is this your first time in Minas Tirith?' asked Aragorn.  
   
Gimli nodded.  
   
'I've been here before, but only to the airport,' he said, with a small smile. 'It's an amazing city. What I've seen so far - the architecture is superb.'  
   
Aragorn smiled proudly.  
   
'I'm glad you like it!'  
   
'Are you from here, then?' asked Gimli.  
   
'No, no. I was born in the north, and raised in Rivendell... but my family is from here.'  
   
'I see,' said Gimli, nodding. 'Are you studying Sindarin too?'  
   
Aragorn shook his head.  
   
'Numenorian History. But I like literature so I go to seminars every now and then.'  
   
Gimli nodded.  
   
'That's nice. I've got an interest in history myself, though I'm not very familiar with Númenor. Such an interesting civilization. It was horrible what happened to them.'  
   
Aragorn nodded.  
   
'I mostly do archival work, but I've got a few archeologist friends who are going on a trip next summer to try to find vestiges of a few buildings.'  
   
'That fascinating,' said Gimli, smiling. 'When I was a wee lad, among other things, I wanted to be an archeologist!'  
   
'Really?' said Aragorn.  
   
Legolas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. So he remained silent, and observed. He often did that, although sometimes his friends found that tendency unnerving. Yet whenever he spoke up without much thought and too spontaneously, they tended to find him even more unnerving.  
   
'Here are your drinks!' said Boromir, returning to their sides.  
   
Faramir quickly wrapped up his conversation with Baggins.  
   
'Well, we'll see you around then,' said Aragorn.  
   
Gimli nodded.  
   
'Enjoy your evening!'  
   
They returned to the table.  
   
'Your uncle is at the bar,' said Boromir to Frodo.  
   
'Is he?' Frodo raised his neck, 'I didn't know he was coming here tonight...'  
   
Pippin giggled.  
   
'You not only live with him, but you also meet him everywhere. You should've done your undergrad somewhere else!'  
   
'Right,' said Frodo, glaring at him. 'I actually like my uncle and I don't mind running into him everywhere. Plus I like Minas Tirith,' he shrugged. 'It's nice.'  
   
'And they have a scholarship for Hobbits,' said Sam.  
   
'But you can study at the Shire for free, can't you?' asked Boromir, curious. 'I had a lecture on social welfare in the Shire yesterday...'  
   
'Well, yes, but the university isn't that good. At least, not for geography.'  
   
'The department of botanics is quite good,' said Sam.  
   
'Then why didn't you go there instead?' asked Pippin. 'You're always homesick anyway.'  
   
Sam gave him a dirty look.  
   
'Because I wanted to see the world too, you know. You aren't the only Hobbit with an adventurous spirit...'  
   
'Oh wow!' said Merry, chuckling. 'If your dad heard you he'd pull your ear so hard!'  
   
Sam blushed.  
   
'Now, now,' said Aragorn. 'It's nice that you're all here.'  
   
'Yes!' said Pippin. 'I certainly miss the Shire, but the food here it's not too bad. I mean, not as good as what I could get in The Green Dragon, but still...'  
   
Legolas giggled.  
   
'It's always about food for you!' he said.  
   
'Well, excuse me, my lord, but food is very important for Hobbits!' said Merry.  
   
'Yeah, it's not our fault that Elves only eat lettuce!'  
   
'Oh my goodness, that happened to Frodo's uncle once at Elrond Pelennor’s house - which, by the way, was just misunderstanding - and now you're saying we all eat grass!' Legolas complained, but he was secretly amused. 'Mind you, food in Greenwood is amazing. You should come during the New Year and I'll show you!'  
   
'But it gets too cold there, even in spring,' said Merry. 'And you've probably got no heating, being an Elf and immune to cold!'  
   
'Well, we do save a lot of energy and resources,' said Legolas, smugly.  
   
Aragorn rolled his eyes.  
   
'Are you all going home for the New Year in a few weeks, then?' asked Faramir.  
   
'I'm going to visit my mother in Rivendell,' said Aragorn.  
   
'We're going to the Shire!' said Sam, excitedly. 'I'm going to eat so much. I'm already fasting in preparation!'  
   
Legolas chuckled, and took a sip of his wine. The conversation quickly turned to Hobbit holiday cuisine and he got distracted again.  
   
*  
   
Elves didn't get hungover. Legolas wasn't hungover. The light was too bright, and his senses were even sharper than usual, and he was getting very, very impatient. All right, maybe he was hungover. There was no other explanation as to why he was queuing outside his favourite bakery at 7.30 am in a Saturday, desperately hoping it wouldn't be more than fifteen minutes before he could get a bacon roll and a cup of Second Breakfast tea. The queue was slow, but moving. Most of the people in there were undergrads, and Legolas felt slightly embarrassed. He was definitely too old for this sort of behaviour, at least by non-Elvish standards.    
   
Maybe he was getting old. Or maybe it was the cheap alcohol that was consumed in Merry and Pippin's dorm after they left the pub around one in the morning. Legolas had to smile to himself, thinking of the face his father would’ve made if he'd seen the label of the cheap vodka he'd happily ingested a few hours before.  
   
'Morning,' he heard someone speak behind him. 'It's Legolas, isn't it?'  
   
Legolas didn't recognise the voice, and his heart jumped and his shoulders got stiff. He turned around, a 'good morning' in his lips, and he found himself face to face - or more like, face to chest - with yesterday's Dwarf.  
   
'Ah! Gimri, right?' he said.  
   
'Gim _li_ ,' the Dwarf replied.  
   
'Gimli! Forgive me,' said Legolas, hurriedly. 'I'm not very good with Dwarvish names; they all sound the same to me!'  
   
A line appeared between Gimli's eyebrows, and he said, 'Right.'  
   
Legolas felt mortified. That hadn't been the right thing to say now, had it?  
   
'Um,' he said, 'so are you here to get some breakfast too?' he asked, desperate to change the subject. 'Long night?'  
   
Gimli chuckled. 'I went to bed at 11,' he said. 'I woke up ravenous and decided to come see what this level of the city had to offer in terms of food.'  
   
Legolas nodded.  
   
'Are you staying in a student residence?'  
   
'I'm in a studio at Denethor's Hall,' said Gimli.  
   
'Fancy!' replied Legolas, with a smile.  
   
'It's nice,' said Gimli. 'But I got here yesterday morning, and I've been busy ever since. I haven't been able to go buy groceries properly or anything,' he added.  
   
'Ah well,' said Legolas. They were getting closer to the counter. 'I think it's best if you buy stuff in this same level. You can get most food and supplies on Market Street, and it's most of it local businesses. But if you wanna go to the supermarket, you'd have to go to the second or the fourth level of the city,' Legolas babbled.  
   
Gimli nodded. 'Thanks. I actually prefer to buy local.'  
   
'Me too!' said Legolas. 'And if you want to get some food from the North East, there's a small pub that sells some great venison pie.'  
   
Gimli raised his eyebrows. 'I've been craving that, actually,' he said. 'I've been living in Aglarond in the past three years, and although it's mostly a Dwarvish settlement, most of the stuff you get there is from Moria.'  
   
'I know what you mean,' said Legolas. 'Usually when you go to an Elvish restaurant, all the stuff if from Rivendell or sometimes Noldorin food. It's practically impossible to get dishes from Greenwood here...'  
   
They finally reached the counter, where a girl, far too cheerful for that early shift, greeted them. Legolas ordered a bacon roll for himself and one for Gimli, and they both got tea. They moved away and decided to eat it together at a nearby park. Once they were sitting comfortably on a stone bench, they resumed their conversation.  
   
'I was actually hoping to get my shopping done and get sorted during the weekend,’ said Gimli. ‘Bilbo said my office wouldn't be ready until Monday morning, so...'  
   
'Right,' said Legolas. 'Are you doing anything afterwards, though?'  
   
He didn't know why he was asking. Perhaps because he had his own seminar presentation in two weeks and, while he should've been working on it, it was a lovely spring day, and Legolas could use a break. He definitely could. Even if Elves had the advantage of endurance and patience, they weren't tireless, and there was only so much hard theorics reading you could do in a week before your brain decided to stop processing the words.  
   
'I thought I could do some sightseeing in this level, get to know the university a bit better,' said Gimli, and took a bite of his bacon roll.  
   
‘Well, if you want, I could show you around this afternoon...'  
   
Gimli raised his eyebrows. He looked genuinely surprised.  
   
'Thanks, but you don't have to, if you're busy,' he said.  
   
'I'm not. Not this weekend, at least. I could use some fresh air myself.'  
   
'Well, I appreciate it. Thank you.'  
   
'Good,' said Legolas, and smiled.  
   
After they finished their roll and tea, they arranged to meet in that same place at two o’clock. Legolas had no idea what had propelled him to offer to be Gimli's tour guide, but he hoped he hadn't made a mistake. Perhaps it was the guilt at having put his foot in his mouth so many times in front of him already. Legolas was extremely careless when he spoke, but he was equally mortified when he realised people didn't like him because of that. He always attempted to rectify their opinion.  
   
Plus, all of his friends were probably too hungover to do anything fun with that day, and he didn’t like spending idle Saturdays by himself.  
  

**Author's Note:**

> Gimli’s poems are actually by Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva, translated into English by A. S. Kline. You can find more of them here: http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Russian/Tsvetaeva.htm 
> 
> In ‘Homesickness,’ I changed ‘Kamchatka bear’ for ‘kamrul’ which means ‘brownish’ in Khuzdûl, and ‘twentieth century’ for ‘Fourth Age,’ because I’m trash. In ‘Walking You’re Just Like Me’ I changed ‘Marina’ for ‘Gimli.’


End file.
